The Assassin
by Platinum Express
Summary: Hermione knew that her new post in the Ministry wasn't going to be easy. But things come to a head when she's pitted against Draco Malfoy, his troop of ex-Death Eaters and a series of mysterious attempts on her life. Rated M for a reason.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

The office that Draco was ushered into was small, boarded all over with dark wooden planks that smelled a bit damp and mossy around the edges. It was inadequately lit with a single naked bulb that descended from the ceiling, and a stubby candle affixed to the window pane that he suspected was there for effect more than anything else. The bulb cast a circle of light on the centre of the room, illuminating a rickety desk resplendent with ink stains and a few ball-point pens, a folder stuffed with sheaves of paper, a couple of chairs with faded upholstery and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey with a steel tumbler.

'This,' Draco said, a touch contemptuously, 'Is where you work?'

The man who had followed him into the room nodded. He was small and slight, with ginger-coloured hair under a plaid cap and a large overcoat drawn over dark robes. He shut the door behind them and gestured for Draco to take a seat.

'This is my office alright. I might not be one of them hot-shot lawyers up at the Ministry, but that isn't what you want, is it? I specialize in a bit of dirty work, done quietly, efficiently, with minimum fuss. If you don't need anything of that sort, you're welcome to leave.'

'I'm not leaving,' Draco said. He had taken a large handkerchief out of his coat pocket and was dusting at the chair that had been offered to him. 'You're perfect for the job I need, and I'm willing to pay any price.'

The ginger-haired man's eyes lit up and he swept his cap off his head. He sat down opposite Draco, and picked up a cigarette and lit it. 'Mind if I smoke?' he asked, once it was well-established in his mouth. 'Thought not. Now, tell me. What kind of work are we talking about?'

'Something of a delicate nature,' Draco said, refolding his handkerchief and replacing it in his pocket.

'Illegal, is it?' asked the ginger-haired man, nodding knowingly. To his surprise, Draco shook his head.

'Not illegal, no. Just something that I want done quietly and quickly. My partner gave me this and said you would help.'

He drew a business card out of his pocket and placed it on the table. On one side, the words _Sinclair Avery _was embossed, and on the other, an address and the name _Peter Tahoe _was scrawled with a wide-tipped quill.

The ginger-haired man's eyes widened.

'So, Avery sent you did he. Didn't realize he was in partnership with anybody. I'm Peter Tahoe alright. Avery's a well-established client of mine. We've been working together for years.'

Draco cocked an eyebrow. 'Have you now?'

'Well,' Peter conceded, 'To be fair I've only done a couple of jobs with him. Stuff of a standard nature- I'd tell you, but you know how antsy some people get about lawyer-client confidentiality. Let me just say it involved a couple of girls and pregnancy tests. Like I said, nothing fancy. But I was in association with his father for over ten years, right until- well, you must know what happened.'

Draco nodded.

'Yes, Avery Senior and me were very close,' Peter continued, somewhat reminiscently. 'Tell me, is it true his wife has taken to her bed and refuses to leave the room?'

Draco stiffened slightly. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Peter chuckled. 'Of course you wouldn't. You're blue blood too, aren't you? Secretive lot, all of you, and fiercely united when it comes to riff-raff like me, I've gathered. But I know it's true about Lady Avery. Talk spreads about town very easily. They say she's gone quite mad.'

'Tell me,' Draco said, quietly, 'is keeping up with idle gossip a part of your job description?'

Peter grinned broadly. 'You'd be surprised, Mr Malfoy,' he said, a faintly mocking quality entering his tone, 'Gossip has its own uses. You never know what one may pick up, and where it might come in handy. Take this little tidbit about Lady Avery for instance. I'd never use it against her, because the her son would be a part of me- what's the term I'm looking for- _cliental. _But there are other things- secret things, things that people would rather keep hidden that become vital to many of my operations. They might just save your skin this time, so don't look so outraged. Get back to the job at hand. What is it that you want me to do?'

Draco paused, as though collecting his thoughts.

'I want you,' he said, finally, 'To break a trust fund.'

Peter pursed his lips and placed his index finger against his chin. 'Tough,' he said, slowly, 'Very tough. I've worked with trust funds before, of course. Your lot has a bunch of them, I gather. But those have only been small fish- a hundred dollars or so here, perhaps five on loan. Breaking an entire fund would be goddamn difficult, because whoever owns it would have a bunch of fancy lawyers and bankers and financiers and god knows what other kind of crap guarding it with their lives. And you're wrong when you say it illegal, because breaking into someone's trust fund always is. You're siphoning off their money- sheer robbery. But that's never bothered me before, really. Let's get down to the details of it; was this trust fund established at birth?'

Draco nodded. 'That's right. A rather moderate sum that was supposed to compound to one million galleons when the owner turned twenty five.'

'How old is the owner now?' asked Peter, curiously.

'Twenty three.'

'Two years left then,' Peter said, slowly. 'Once it's in his hands, you won't be able to touch the money. Not that I'm saying breaking a fund is much easier than stepping right into someone's Gringott's Vault- that isn't my point at all. But when it comes to funds, there are so many lawyers and bankers involved that one never knows what the other's up to. It's got potential, I'll say that much. But it isn't easy.'

Draco sighed. 'You're rambling,' he said, coldly, 'Look, if this is about the money, let me settle your mind on that matter.'

He reached down to the knapsack he had been carrying and took out a a handwoven bag which he tossed onto the table. It had the Gringotts symbol printed on one side, and clinked invitingly as it landed. Peter's eyes lit up immediately.

'How much is it?' he asked, leaning forward.

'Five hundred galleons,' Draco said, carelessly. 'And that's only half the amount. You'll get the other half once you deliver the goods. I want this fund to be broken in one month's time, and you will be paid in cash because I don't want to have to explain to my mother why I'm siphoning off a thousand lawyer when our family's clamoring with legal teams of its own.'

'Sounds reasonable,' said Peter, who's eyes hadn't once left the little sack. 'Whose trust fund do you want me to break?'

The candle flickered suddenly, casting a sudden harsh light on Draco's face. It dissipated slowly and he smiled.

'Mine.'

* * *

><p>Theodore Nott frowned as his eyes raked the letter his owl had just delivered.<p>

He had been disconcerted when Maximus had flown in through his window this late in the evening; the letters generally came only in the hours between breakfast and lunch. He had been sitting in his library, poring over some copies of ancient maps unearthed in an Aztec loft that his uncle had sent him, when it had arrived. He was just finishing it, and making note of the neat signature at the bottom, when his mother swept into the room.

Lady Nott was forty-three years old, but still one of the most beautiful women that the social circles of London had seen. When she was a young girl, her father had been certain that her face would marry her well and he was right. At the tender age of nineteen she had been claimed by one of the most sought-after bachelors at the Pureblood debutante occasions. Aldrich Nott had been been instantly enamored by her porcelain skin, wide-set blue eyes and corn-coloured hair. Twenty years later, much of that charm had been retained by her face, although a few fine lines had appeared beneath her eyes and at the creases of her mouth. Her eyebrows were pleasantly winged, her nose elegantly sloped and her hair was tacked up above her neck with an amethyst studded claw-clutch She was wearing a white dress with a richly embroidered shawl thrown across her shoulders, and was looking pleasantly occupied with some task.

'Teddy my love, did you put that catalogue from Malkins somewhere? I have to ask them to replace that burgundy wrap they sent over last week. I looked at it a bit carefully this morning, and I'd afraid the edges are rather frayed. I don't know what the ladies at the Business Club will think if they see me dressed like this.'

Theodore frowned heavily, and tossed the letter towards her.

'I don't think you need to worry, mother. We won't be going to Moscow after all.'

His mother paused and turned her attention away from the search for the catalogue. Her expression was slightly bemused.

'What on earth do you mean, Teddy? The tickets are booked. I've told your Aunt Marsha to expect us in two weeks. What more could you possibly-'

'The Ministry,' Theodore interrupted, 'Doesn't approve. Have a look at that letter. It was sent here a few minutes back, signed by the Department of Surveillance.'

Theodore watched his mother's expression tighten as she heard the name. She held the Department of Surveillance in as much contempt as he did. She pulled a pair of pince-nez from a change around her neck and perched them on her nose as she glanced through the letter. Theodore marvelled how she immediately switched from social butterfly mode to the astute and capable lady that she really was.

'So,' she remarked, dryly, 'Hermione Granger's up to her nonsense again, is she?'

'As always,' Theodore said, the anger in his voice barely repressed. 'Of all the gall. That department's been keeping an eye on us for six years now, you'd think they wouldn't have waited until _after_the tickets were booked-'

'That isn't the point,' Lady Nott said, slowly. She glanced over the letter again. 'Hermione Granger isn't unreasonable, however completely a bitch she may be. There must be some reason behind putting us off Moscow.'

'Which there isn't,' Theodore said, obstinately.

'She's being rather foolish,' his mother agreed, thoughtfully. 'All our closest friends and relatives know that we're going there simply to meet papa's old Business Club relatives. If Granger's actually_preventing _us from going to Russia, there's something bigger behind this. She suspects us of something.'

Theodore's expression had altered slightly. 'What do you think that is?' he asked.

'Perhaps she thinks we're trying to network with your father's old friends. Maybe she thinks we're in touch with old Death Eater associates.'

'That's ridiculous!' Theodore spat. A trace of fear had crept in behind his anger.

'I know, Teddy. Don't worry. I'll go and see this horror of a girl tomorrow and try and knock some sense into her.'


	2. Red Tape and Scotch

**CHAPTER 1**

Penelope McKee had always wanted to work in the Ministry of Magic.

When she was a little girl, she had wanted to be an Auror. Her father, who worked in a grocery store in Camden Town had been optimistic about his intelligent daughter, and had always told her she'd make it one day. When she was seventeen, and had realized that being first in class in her primary school didn't necessarily mean she was the smartest- or anyone near the top, really- at Hogwarts, she decided that a position as a researcher or filer might not be so bad either. When she was twenty, already married and four months pregnant, she snatched the first opportunity she got and ended up being posted as the secretary to one Ms Hermione Granger.

Initially Penelope had been terrified of her boss. During her interview, Ms Granger had spoken to her sharply, questioned as to whether one could really list _knitting_ as a hobby on their resume, ruthlessly ridiculed her interest in Divination and finally asked her whether her family was a higher priority than her job. When Penelope had told her that it would be, one day, Ms Granger had looked faintly puzzled but was quick to recognize her sense of order and quickness with the typewriter and so she'd hired her. Over the next two years, Penelope grew closer and somewhat fonder of her employer. She had come to understand that the latter's sharpness was more to do with efficiency than rudeness, and that she was always busy and flustered and involved with her job. Ms Granger's parents, she understood, had settled in Australia and this was, for some reason, a source of some pain to their daughter. She did not have any brothers or sisters. One day, Penelope found out that Ms Granger skipped breakfasts and ate granola bars at the Ministry for lunch, and was so horrified that she took to packing a couple of sandwiches for her everyday. In return, Ms Granger came to appreciate her secretary's efficiency and a sort of comradeship had sprung up between the two women. Which was why, the morning that Lady Nott strolled into the reception of the department, Penelope quickly scrawled "_URGENT. You were right, she's here._" on a memo and posted it discreetly to Hermione's office before the Lady even approached her desk.

Lady Nott, she was quick to notice, looked extraordinarily out of place in the Department of Surveillance. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, dressed in a white morning dress with a gray jacket pulled over it. A cobalt blue straw hat was perched on her bright gold hair. She held a quilted clutch in one hand, and black leather gloves that stopped abruptly at her wrists. Most newspapers described Lady Nott as a social butterfly, but Penelope had heard Miss Granger describing her differently; after all, it was her Department's job to keep an eye on all the ex-Death Eaters and their families, and if Miss Granger described Lady Nott as an astute, manipulative and extremely able woman, Penelope rather tended to believe her. She watched as this elegant woman walked up to her desk, and arranged her featured into a civil smile.

'Good morning,' she said, inclining her head slightly to one side, 'May I help you?'

The Department had extensive files and photographs of all the 'clients' they were supposed to keep an eye on, and each employee was put through a six month training period where they familiarized themselves with the List. Penelope would have recognized Lady Nott in the middle of a blizzard, but Hermione had long since taught her to pretend not to recognize any of the clients which strolled through those doors. Many of them didn't fall for it, but her employer insisted it sometimes lulled them into a false sense of security.

Lady Nott stripped off her gloves and whisked the hat off her head. Her loose, golden hair trailed over her shoulders in a manner that was beautiful and spoke of efficiency at the same time. She offered Penelope a smile, and said, 'My name is Alexandria Nott. I wanted to see the Minister, if it's possible.'

'Why don't you have a seat?' Penelope asked, gesturing. 'She should be free in a couple of minutes. She's just finishing up with another client on the telephone.'

Lady Nott cocked an eyebrow as she sat down carefully on one of the rickety wooden chairs, tucking her skirt in under her. She lit a cigarillo and held it imperiously over the cracked ceramic ashtray on Penelope's desk.

'Telephones, did you say?' she asked, curiously. 'That's strange. When my husband worked at the Ministry, nothing but memos and owls were used. When did Shacklebolt start insisting on telephones?'

Penelope looked uncomfortable. 'Soon after the war, I suppose,' she said, awkwardly, 'They were already using them when I joined. The Minister feels it could promote inter-department communication and efficiency.'

Lady Nott nodded comprehendingly. 'Of course,' she said, 'Kingsley is pushing his Muggle Integration drive _very _hard, isn't he? I've heard that the word _efficiency_ is thrown about a lot these days. Well, I suppose things have changed after the war.'

She lapsed back into silence, ignoring Penelope's awkwardness. The latter was wondering how she could refer to the war so casually when it was responsible for putting her husband in Azkaban and enlisting her son and herself as 'suspicious persons that must be watched' in the Ministry folders. She was just wondering whether to ask Lady Nott if she'd like tea or coffee when the little telephone on her desk rang and she rushed to pick it up.

'Miss Granger,' she said, the relief seeping from her voice.

'Penelope, is Alexandria Nott still there?'

'Yes, she's waiting to see you.'

'Send her in immediately. Let me get this over with.' Miss Granger said, with a sigh.

Penelope carefully replaced the receiver.

'She's ready to see you now,' she said, glancing at Lady Nott. The latter stubbed out her cigarillo and swept to her feet. 'Second office to the right.'

Lady Nott strolled down the corridor and knocked smartly on the door. She was admitted inside almost immediately, and Penelope found herself wondering how her employer had been able to predict this visit so accurately.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger had started off in the Department of Surveillance as a mere apprentice.<p>

The Department had been created after the war as an instrument to keep tabs on all the former Death Eaters and their families, and had become so efficient at picking out potential rebellions and Dark activity and quashing them that it was still in full swing six years after its foundation. When she had graduated, it had seemed like the idle place to keep busy, but soon the Department had become an obsession so severe that it rivaled the relationship she had had with the Hogwart's library. Harry and Ron had both taken Ministry positions as well, but neither was as job-focused as Hermione was, and her promotion to Minister of the Department had seemed perfectly natural to most. In the same way, she had cultivated a set of enemies during her six years in the Ministry; disgruntled Death Eaters, uprisings nipped in the bud and the incessant surveillance of the perfectly harmless ones tended to ensure that. But Hermione didn't care in the least; in fact, she found the wrath of these Purebloods amusing, even more so their angst at being treated this way by a mere Muggleborn.

She had been reasonably sure that preventing Lady Nott's Moscow trip would cause some stir in the Nott household, and wasn't surprised at all when the latter came calling. She took the few minutes of warning that Penelope had given her to quickly check the database for any new monetary transactions that the Notts had effected. Nothing, except for a check to the dry cleaners, she noted, possibly for the upcoming trip. Only after she was done with that did she ring Penelope to send the Lady in.

She had met Lady Nott infrequently over the last six years, mostly to do with paperwork and donations that loosely revolved around her husband's imprisonment. Each time she watched carefully for signs of age or fatigue, but met none. The only indication of Lady Nott's age were the fine lines under her eyes. The rest of her spoke of vibrancy and youth, and Hermione was forcefully reminded of this as she swept into her office.

'Miss Granger,' she said, inclining her head and twirling the blue straw hat that she was holding carelessly, 'It's been a while.'

'Eight months, if I remember correctly,' Hermione said, coolly. 'Why don't you have a seat? Would you like some tea? Coffee perhaps?'

Lady Nott dismissed the idea of tea and coffee with an imperious wave of her hand. She sat down opposite Hermione's desk, and placed her hat on the table. 'I wouldn't, but thanks for asking. I'm rather pressed for time, unfortunately. I wanted to have a word with you with some correspondence that we have received from this department.'

Hermione cocked her head slightly to one side. A strand of hair escaped from her tightly pinned chignon and fell against her brow.

'Correspondence?' she asked, lightly. 'To what are you referring?'

Although her cool, sarcastic tone had irritated many of her 'clients' in the past, Lady Nott was rarely irked by it. She smiled broadly, as though mentally applauding Hermione's composure.

'I'm referring,' she said, 'To a letter, personally signed by you, that was delivered to me yesterday evening. I believe the department is putting a halt to my Moscow trip.'

'Oh, yes,' Hermione said, indifferently, 'That. I signed it just yesterday.'

'You see,' Lady Nott said, calmly, 'That trip was very important to me indeed. My husband was an active member of the Moscow Business Club, and I have been in touch with some of his associates- all Muggles, do you needn't fear that this is some sort of Death Eater uprising.'

Hermione laughed lightly. 'Oh, we don't fear that at all,' she said, putting some emphasis on the word _we. '_But you understand what it's like in the Ministry when it comes to trips abroad. There's just so much red tape.'

Lady Nott took a deep breath as though collecting her thoughts, and then looked directly at Hermione.

'Miss Granger,' she said, quietly, 'I know this isn't about a visa. I know this isn't about red tape. My passport is in order, my tickets are booked, my suitcases are packed and my relatives have been informed. This about you- _you_ personally- not wanting me to go to Moscow. I want you to tell my why.'

Hermione laughed lightly. 'Rest assured, this is nothing personal,' she said, 'We aren't asking you to cancel your trip, Lady Nott, merely postpone it. You see, it's my fault really. The Department's required to send in a statement of declaration whenever one of our client's leave the country, and you may leave only once it's cleared. I'm afraid I entirely forgot to do so in your case. I remember yesterday evening, and sent it off in a hurry, but it's going to take about two weeks to get cleared.'

Lady Nott's face remained stony. 'We've never encountered this problem before.'

'New protocol,' Hermione said, smiling pleasantly. She fixed her gaze directly on the woman across the desk, who's expression was beginning to get angry.

'I don't believe you,' Lady Nott said, abruptly. 'I have no idea why you want me to postpone my Moscow trip, but rest assured, Miss Granger, that I'm going to.'

She got up, turned around and stormed out of Hermione's office.

* * *

><p>'It's about time you got back,' Avery growled, as Draco entered the study and carefully closed the door behind him. The former had been sitting behind Draco's desk, fiddling with his quills and drinking a glass of watered down scotch. 'You've been two hours.'<p>

'I had a lot to talk about with Tahoe,' Draco said, coolly. He took off his coat and draped it over the back of an armchair. 'Where is my mother?'

'She went out for a dinner,' Avery said, impatiently. 'What did Tahoe say?'

'A dinner?' Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow ironically. He picked up the crystal bottle of scotch on his desk- a family heirloom that his father had given him for his eighteenth birthday, and poured himself three fingers. 'Let me guess. At Crabbe's, or the Lestrange's, I'm guessing. Who else bother's to call us out for dinner anymore? Tahoe said a lot. You should have come.'

Avery frowned. 'You know I didn't want to see that slimeball. He smirks at me every time I go into his office.'

'Because you turned him into a human paternity test, I'm assuming. This boy isn't so great with confidentiality, Sinclair. He asked me about your mother.'

Avery's face turned a mottled purple in a matter of seconds. 'My _mother_? What did he want to know about her?'

'That doesn't matter,' Draco said, dismissively. 'The important this is, he said he could do it.'

Avery perked up immediately. 'Really?'

'Yes. Said it would be difficult, but he was willing to risk Azkaban for a thousand galleons. I'm meeting him again tomorrow.'

Avery looked uneasy. 'Draco, it might not look good if you keep visiting him. If that bloody Department of Surveillance is still-'

'Relax,' Draco said, calmly, 'There's a bar right above his office. I just got in from there and he let me in through the back door. Then I bought a beer on my way up and charged it to my Gringott's account. All the Dep will think is that I'm going for a quiet drink for myself once in a while. God knows I need it.'

Avery's shoulders slumped with relief. 'Tomorrow, then,' he said, slowly, 'He's going to give you a more concrete plan?'

'Yup. Said he needs to do a bit of background research first. Relax, Sinclair, we'll manage this.'

'We better,' Avery said, slowly. 'Because we don't have much time, Draco. And the last thing we need is that retarded bitch Granger nosing through our business.


End file.
